Broken Glass
by MoonlightGardenias
Summary: Despite her tough shell, she was still fragile. One shot, Cristina angstfic.


**Author's Note: This? Is kind of random. It's CristinaAngst, and I'm not really experienced in writing her so I hope I did it justice. It's just something I kind of came up with on whim, things that might be running through her mind.**

**Reviews are welcome and appreciated as always.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's. Sometimes, I almost wish I did.**

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The bruises have faded, but the memories have not. The feel of his hands, clenching her throat. The look in his eyes, haunted and glazed over.

She's stopped wearing the turtle necks, trading that for simply wearing her hair down. It's efficient enough. For now.

How was it that she became the one who everyone thought was unbreakable? They all came to her, all complained to her, like she was this perfect sounding board who wouldn't judge. And she wouldn't. She learned a long time ago it was better to just sit and listen with sympathetic ears rather than talk and offer advice; half of the time, the other person usually figured out what to do before they were done talking anyway.

If that's the case, shouldn't she have someone to confide in? Shouldn't she have that one person she can count on to tell pretty much anything?

Meredith is her person. The one who knew what he did and was on her side, regardless. The one she'd be able to tell this thing she's hiding to. Except for the fact that she and Shepherd are all happy and engaged now. Even she can't be the one to break up that happiness.

Then, in the midst of it all, there's Izzie. She assisted in another of her surgeries while a few of her interns observed, particularly happy they got the opportunity. It _is _a great opportunity, a learning experience or whatever, but she can't detach herself this time. She's trying to remain distant and clean about it, but she sees her face, eyes closed, and finds herself actually praying she'll get the chance to open them again.

Because she knows what it's like to get a raw deal. She knows what it's like to be brought so close to the brink stars were exploding before her eyes, so close she almost felt herself slipping away. As a doctor, she's witnessed death dozens of times unfortunately, but she isn't sure she can live with herself if she has to call the death of someone she knew, someone she's so close to.

Sleep has become a foreign concept, even after they've broken up. He sees it on her face as they pass each other in the hallway. He says something about getting treatment, that Shepherd's helping him get his life back.

But will it be enough? Could she find herself actually sleeping soundly beside him again without the fear of him getting trapped in some nightmare of his past?

He didn't mean it. She knows this, but it's still something she can't bring herself to shake. Yet, she won't bring herself to talk about it, because talking about it would mean it was a problem and it's not. It's not a problem.

Instead, she does what she does best. She stuffs that feeling down, the one that says she should probably talk to someone other than her suddenly happy yet still dark and twisty best friend about what happened, and the aftermath of it all. She stuffs it so far down she almost forgets it ever happened. But it's still there, lurking around the corner waiting to pounce at just the right moment whenever she hears his name over the intercom or sees him in the hall.

It's not fair, she thinks. It's not fair because there are far bigger problems to worry about, like the fact that her patient could quite literally die if they don't get that transplant heart in soon. Things like one of her closest friends-though she'd never admit it, because she never considered herself a 'friends' type of person-dying slowly by the day. The cancer cells aren't going away, even with the strong treatment they're giving. She fights the urge every day to go down to Oncology and scream at them all to just _try harder_. Because Izzie Stevens isn't just 'some patient'. She isn't just another number, another statistic in the hospital. She's a real person with hopes and dreams, and maybe they're a little out there sometimes, but that's just how she learns to cope.

Death surrounds her every day, she goes home every day, smelling like blood and death and surgery. It's permeated into her skin like fog that refuses to be wiped from your windshield. As a doctor, she revels in the idea of saving lives. She just prays they'll never know she's still one who needs saving.


End file.
